Strawberry Annoyance
by High-Par-Bowl-E
Summary: England and France are at a supermarket, arguing, as usual. Then, there's that little bet Arthur made with Alfred, just to make things a little more difficult for the island nation. Human names. Suggested FrUk?
1. Chapter 1

This is something I've had sitting around for a while. I suck at French, so shoot me.

I ownz nuthin'.

* * *

****

February 13th 2:43 PM  
The Grocery Store

Arthur stared blankly at the sign towering above the overpriced strawberries. In bold pink letters, it obnoxiously proclaimed strawberries to be the 'Valentine's Fruit', then, deviating from the previous statement, went on to list the possible health benefits in smaller black letters. The background was, predictably, a giant strawberry.

Upon realising he had been standing there for a good two minutes, the personification of the -not so- United Kingdom turned back to his shopping list with a sigh. He had things to do today, he reminded himself, such as... uh... Embroidery! Yes, drinking tea and embroidery.

Next on the list was milk, which happened to be located on the other side of the store. He had not taken two steps before colliding with one of his least favourite nations/people. Of _course_ Francis would be here.

__

'Bloody hell!' Arthur internally swore.

Francis smirked at how Arthur's lips were pressed tightly together to keep from swearing out loud, then draped an arm over Arthur's shoulder and directed his attention to the sign.

"Why have you been staring at this sign so intently A-" Francis was abruptly cut off by an elbow sharply jabbing into his ribs. He swiftly (and wisely) withdrew his arm and held it close to is ribcage. Satisfied with this reaction for the time being, the Englishman gestured at the sign.

"Why the-" Arthur caught himself just in time, and started again. "Why strawberries?"

Winning this bet was turning out to be a lot more difficult than expected, but _like hell_ he'd lose to that bloody American again. Not to mention what he'd have to do if he lost...

"What shape is a strawberry like?" Francis lazily waved his arm around in a general outline of the giant strawberry.

"..."

"Well?"

"... It's a strawberry."

"Yes, but what _shape_ is the strawberry?" Francis' voice had a hint of exasperation to it, as if it should be obvious even to the most dense what shape he saw in the strawberry.

"Strawberry shaped?" Arthur smirked a little.

"The shape!"

"Strawberry."

"Yes, but what shape would it be if it was cut in half?" Francis mimed a vertical chopping motion with is hands.

"Half a strawberry."

"No!"

"A random blob?"

Francis sighed, crossed his arms over his chest, and dropped them back at his sides again, deciding on a different approach.

"What colour is it?"

Arthur paused for a moment, then upon deciding that feigning colourblindness was out of the question, decided on honesty. "...Red?"

"Yes!" Francis' posture visibly relaxed.

"Like a strawberry."

"Yes, but-"

"A cherry?"

"No!"

"Watermelon then."

"Non! Tu es un imbecile!" At this, Arthur's smirk widened to a full out grin. He was sure he was being insulted, but really didn't care. Getting on the Frenchie's nerves was _fun_.

"An apple?"

"Non, non non! Rouge, la couleur de l'amour!"

"Can you shut up?" People were starting to stare at the two crazy blonds, and it was generally not a good idea to draw attention to yourself in a supermarket.

Francis promptly shut up and glared at the heavily eyebrowed man, who glared back. "Red," he began again with forced calm, "is the colour of love, and Valentine's day."

"As if I didn't know that."

"And the shape, is a heart."

"I must disagree on that point. It's a strawberry."

"Heart."

"IT'S A BLOODY STRAWBERRY YOU BASTARD WINE FREAK!"

"I win!" France struck a victory pose, a huge mischievous grin across his face.

Arthur simply groaned and rested his face in his palm. Damn that Alfred. It's because of his stupid bet that he would have to spend Valentine's day with France. He was not looking forward to it.

* * *

I barely passed French last year, so feel free to correct any mistakes I may have made.

"Non! Tu es un imbecile!" - No! You are stupid! (Or something like that)  
"Non, non non! Rouge, la couleur de l'amour!" - No, no no! Red, the colour of love! (Again, I'm stupid, I probably got it wrong, but I'm not using a translator, just my defective brain)


	2. Chapter 2

Yep, late as always.

For those that don't know, a pregnant goldfish is a twit.

* * *

It was here again. Valentines Day. The day all the couples of the world got to throw it in your face that they have a relationship and you don't. England couldn't think of a single reason to like it. Every February 14th, it comes around in all its excessive pink-and-red-candy-heart-filled-chocolate-ness. One would think, it'd be acceptable as a holiday if only for the candy, except that everything tastes so horrifyingly _pink;_ you want to lock yourself in your house, practically live off your Earl Grey tea, and not leave until all the after holiday sales have finished and the obnoxious sentimentality is over and done with.

This, incidentally, is exactly what the rainy nation planned on doing, before that twit of an American showed up with that bet of his. Arthur paused for a moment with the mental image of America as a pregnant goldfish swimming around his brain. Fitting; they had approximately the same attention span.

Instead of waiting the holiday out in peaceful solitude, England was trying in vain to ignore the Frenchman situated on his couch. The Brit could practically _feel_ the blue eyes figuratively glued to his backside as he made his morning tea.

This was going to be a long February the 14th.

* * *

Arthur was beginning to feel quite confident by the time lunch came around.

…That is, confident he wasn't going to get out of this mentally unscathed.

Still, he felt he was doing a fairly good job of ignoring, or, when the nuisance got to close; punching, kicking, slapping, or elbowing France. He refrained from biting; there was this nagging gut feeling the Frenchman would actually _like_ it. That, most certainly, would not do.

He was in the midst of coming up with a plan to get rid of France (involving his old clothes from his pirate days, some of his magical friends, a whole LOT of alcohol, a teacup, and a bright pink sock), when his doorbell was rung five times in quick succession (then once more for good measure).

"Yo! Dude! Open up!" If the previous six rings of the doorbell were not enough indication, this overly energetic demand, accompanied by the _thump-thump-thump-thump_ of a fist on the door certainly was. England's stomach announced its new residence in his slippers as he, with newfound appreciation for how the Titanic must have felt nearing its final moments; reluctantly swung open the door.

"Hey! I just came by to see how-" A look of confusion crossed the North American's face. "What's with the sock?"

"Oh, that... Ahem, well, nothing." Arthur hastily tossed the sock aside.

"Okay, so anyway, how's your day with France going?" He couldn't be serious after that "incident" with the strawberry advert- "I was wondering, if I could … stay here for a little bit?" and apparently he wasn't serious, as he continued on without waiting for a response.

America looked sheepishly down at the former superpower.

England's eyebrows attempted to launch themselves into orbit.

France rolled off England's couch in pain, insisting something stabbed his arm.

Captain Hook feigned innocence.

"Why?" The UK had rapidly come to the conclusion that the best way to avoid swearing was to keep everything simple and as short as possible. Swearing and 'losing his cool' was what had gotten him into this to begin with, and he'd promised… _someone_ that he'd try to clean his mouth up a bit.

Alfred looked a little sheepish.

"Well, you see, Mattie kind of kicked me out of his place, Japan was being vague when I asked if I could visit him, I still owe China money, Lithuania-" Sudden understanding came to England. America was _lonely_.

"Come in."

"What?"

"I said," this was almost physically painful for England; he could have sworn his mouth was moving of its own volition. "Come in."

Maybe he could distract the Frog.

* * *

He wasn't sure how it happened. All he knew was that somehow, all his former colonies (and France!) had somehow spent the evening in his house, and for a few hours at least, it was like they were all one big happy family again.

Maybe Valentines Day wasn't just about couples after all. Maybe it was just about being together – one big, dysfunctional, crazy, quite-possibly-drunk family.

And maybe he wasn't so mad at strawberries simply for _existing_ anymore.

While the poor neighbors were terrorized with firecrackers, roses, semi-explosive magic and a few shouts of "How did you get that past customs!" England calmly sat back and sipped his tea, watching the chaos unfold around him with a sense of nostalgia. He could deal with the consequences in the morning.

Just as he began to let a small smile twitch his lips upward, a cabinet full of expensive china was knocked over by an unannounced fistfight. Arthur flinched, and realized that no, he wasn't going to get a happy holiday so easily, and that many priceless objects would meet their end by the time the sun next lit the sky.

Oh, well. At least he wasn't spending another Valentines Day alone.

* * *

You can bite my head off about this if you want to, but I tried. I'm attempting to get over my writer's block. I got stuck after the third paragraph. And plot? I've never heard of it. Ending sucks, I got tired. /fail

And France! Where did you go? I know it's like three in the morning, but still! That's no excuse for running out of the fic!

Here's a scene I took out, as it abused the fourth wall more than I liked (only partially written):

"Oi! You! C'mere a minute!" Australia called to no one in particular; he just wanted someone to answer.

He ended up with New Zealand, Canada, and Seychelles curiously following him to a hallway closet upstairs.

"Look in 'ere."

"What's that odd rift in space and time doing in that closet?"

"Maybe we found Narnia?"

"No, I've seen one of these before. Alfred and Italy use them all the time."

"Well?"

"It's… a plot hole."

"A plot hole?"

"Y-yeah. This one's a portal to all over the world. How did you think we ended up here so fast?"


End file.
